American Boy (16 page)

It had more than heat. It was the car—and much of the drama, danger, and excitement of our lives occurred in cars. Johnny had been trying to please me when he came up with this location. But what was I thinking? Cars were the realm of possibility, and in them we had power. Things that could never happen anywhere else happened in the front or backseats of cars.

Louisa seemed to read my thoughts. “I’m getting a little old to be drinking beer in a parked car.”

“Should we go back to Frenchman’s Forest?” I offered. “I bet we could get into that place where you lived with Lester. Didn’t it have a wood-burning stove?”

“I’m never going back there.” Her tone was dismissive and resolute.

Always eager to lighten any situation, Johnny said, “If we keep moving, we’ll stay warm!” As if to illustrate his theory, he did a few jumping jacks. Then he ran from one end of the locker room to the other. I don’t know if all that activity really warmed him, but it accomplished his real purpose. By the time he finished his second sprint, Louisa was laughing.

“I lived for a while in this tiny apartment over a hardware store,” she said. “The only heat was what came up from the store, and the owner would turn it way down when the store closed. Nights were so damn cold I swear to God I could have put milk on the kitchen table and it would have stayed as cold as in the icebox.”

“Where was that?” I asked.

“A little town in North Dakota. You’ve never heard of it.”

“Try me.”

“Haugen. It’s south of Fargo.”

“You’re right. I never heard of it. Is that where you’re from?”

“My dad was from Haugen, so I ended up there a few times. There and on the family farm.”

“And now you’re going to live in Denver. Isn’t that the plan?”

“That’s right. Someday. And what’s with the third degree?”

I lit a cigarette from the pack of Pall Malls I’d stolen from my mother’s carton. “Just trying to get to know you a little better.”

“Yeah? Why’s that?”

“I think you and I have a lot in common.”

Her laugh was like a stifled sneeze. She stepped close to me and scissored her fingers in front of my nose. “Here’s something we have in common. I need a cigarette, too.”

I struck a match to light her cigarette, and as she puffed it to life she cut her eyes up at me. It was the kind of look that sends you to the mirror to see what someone else has seen in your face.

Meanwhile, Johnny had opened another can of beer and was once again pouring part of it down the drain. This time it seemed as if wine made up more than half the drink.

“What did Lester call this again?” he asked Louisa.

“Fucked-up juice.”

“That’s a good name. A very good name. I can tell already this stuff will fuck a guy up. ”

But the term that Johnny and I were likely to use was “tight,” because it belonged more to the world of sophisticated adult consumption of alcohol than it did to the sloppy, stupid, beer-swilling behavior that characterized so much teenage drinking. And yet the word didn’t really apply to Johnny very well. The more Johnny drank, the looser he got. His tongue flapped and his gestures became large, as if all his restraints were suddenly undone. I, on the other hand, could rightly be called “tight” when I drank. Because I didn’t like to lose control, I always kept a close watch on myself.

Louisa followed Johnny’s advice and moved around the clubhouse to keep warm. “So is this some kind of exclusive men’s club? Am I in the inner sanctum or something?”

“Nah,” said Johnny. “The public is welcome.” He spread his arms wide. “The entire goddamn public. Give us your poor, your tired, your huddled masses looking to break par.”

Louisa continued to explore the locker room, and in a corner, behind a mop and bucket, she found a furled banner. I knew what it said without seeing it unrolled: “Merchants Golf Tourney: Three Days, Five Flights.” The banner hung over the clubhouse door every August.

But Louisa obviously wasn’t interested in its message. She unrolled it only to drape it around her shoulders for warmth.

“Now that,” Johnny said, “is how they should advertise the tournament.”

Louisa struck a mock-seductive pose, as if she were wearing nothing under the banner. “Play golf with us,” she purred. The line and the pose were supposed to be a joke, and Johnny and I both laughed. But Louisa’s performance was so quick and sure that it also left me astonished. I had never seen her talent for mimicry before, and it was so impressive I realized in an instant that even if her talent was natural, it still must have been nurtured and developed with practice. I imagined Louisa in front of a mirror, imitating Edie Adams in her commercials for White Owl cigars. But then another thought occurred to me: Had I really never seen Louisa’s talent for mimicry before? How could I be sure?

“Johnny’s played in that tournament a few times,” I said.

“Is that right?” Louisa sat down on the bench, using the banner as a shawl. “Are you a good golfer?”

“I’m not bad.” Johnny took a long swallow from his beer can, then shook it next to his ear, as if hearing were the only way he could tell whether there was any liquid left. “But Matt, Matt hits the ball a mile.”

“Not straight,” I added.

“So who’s the best golfer? Be honest.”

“Johnny,” I said. “By far.”

“The best baseball player?”

“We’re both pretty shitty,” replied Johnny. He was already opening another beer and reaching for the wine.

“The fastest runner?” asked Louisa.

“Johnny. Not even a contest.”

“The strongest?”

“Definitely Matt.”

“I’ve seen the two of you studying your little heads off. Who’s the best student?”

“That’d be Johnny. I don’t think he’s ever gotten anything but A’s. Ever.”

“I got a B in Latin,” he said.

“But not for a semester grade.” I finished my beer, set the can on the floor, and kicked it across the room. It bounced and clattered across the linoleum, then came to rest in a urinal.

“Well, I know who the best hockey player is.” And how, I wondered, did she know that? Had Dr. Dunbar somehow entered this competition? “Who’s the best dancer?”

“Matt. He’s had the most practice.”

“With what’s-her-name?” asked Louisa.

“Debbie,” said Johnny, and reached again for the bottle of Regal House to pour more wine into his beer can. When he handed the bottle back to Louisa, she took two quick swallows, as if she knew that at the rate Johnny was going, the wine wouldn’t last long.

“Here’s one for you,” she said. “Who’s the best kisser?”

“How the hell would we know that?” I said. “We’d have to kiss the same girl, and then she’d have to tell us.”

Johnny lifted his foot to rest it on the bench, but he missed and almost fell over. He giggled. “Or else we’d have to kiss each other!”

Louisa dropped her cigarette on the floor and crushed it with her foot. “Okay. Come over here. Both of you. Stand right here in front of me. Put your drinks down. We’ll settle this now.”

We arranged ourselves side by side in front of Louisa. She stood, letting her banner-shawl slip to the floor. Then she took off her gloves and put them in the pocket of her coat. “Let’s see. Who wants to go first?” She squared her shoulders like an athlete before an event.

Without another word, she stepped up to Johnny, took his face in her hands, and kissed him on the mouth.

Whether it was the effects of the beer-wine combination, the force of Louisa’s kiss, or both, Johnny lurched back a step when she kissed him. But somehow Louisa didn’t lose contact. I wasn’t sure if I wanted to watch them or stare straight ahead.

“Okay. Not bad. Some girls don’t care how a guy kisses as long as he’s good looking. But that’s not me. If a guy can’t kiss I don’t want anything to do with him.”

“How about Lester?” I asked. “How was he?”

“Oh, please.” She put her hands to her ears. “Don’t even mention his name.” But then she brought her hands down and broke her own commandment. “He was pretty good. He wasn’t the best-looking guy around, but he was a good kisser. He really was.”

She beckoned me toward her, though we were only a couple feet apart. “Come on, come on. The contest isn’t over. Next.”

I stepped closer. Just as she had with Johnny, Louisa put her hands on my cheeks. Her hands were cold, but her lips were warm, and the wine she’d been drinking gave her breath a sweet mineral smell.

I put both arms around Louisa, pressing one hand on her back between her shoulder blades and cradling the back of her head with my other hand. But before I could exert much pressure, she broke away.

“All right, all right. That wasn’t bad either. And I didn’t get wet, rubbery lips from either of you. No runny noses. And no teeth in the way. So that’s all to the good. But which was the best? Hmmm.”

She pushed Johnny and me closer to each other, until our shoulders touched. “I’ll need another round of testing.” She popped her lips together a few times. “Once I get this settled, maybe I’ll go over to the high school and write the results on a wall in the girls’ bathroom.”

This time I was first, and again I put my arms around Louisa and pulled her close. I felt her body’s contours through the layers of our clothing. With this kiss her mouth opened wider, and her lips felt softer yet pressed harder against mine. It seemed for a moment as if her breath was quickening, but before I could be sure, she pulled back.

“Next!” she said. “Come on, let’s go. Quick, quick.” Before Louisa and I had stepped far apart, she reached out and grabbed Johnny’s arm, almost as if she wanted to drag him into our embrace. And as she did this, I resisted an impulse to push him away, to push him so hard he’d fall to the floor.

But just before Louisa could put her lips to Johnny’s, he said, as if once again he could read my thoughts, “I have to go get my cigarettes.” We were all standing so close that I felt the warmth of his breath on my cheek.

“Smoke Matt’s,” said Louisa.

Johnny was already moving toward the door. “Can’t. Gotta be filters. Gotta be Winstons.”

When the screen door slammed, Louisa said, “Jesus. What got into him?” She sat back down on the bench and reached for the bottle of wine.

The Valiant’s engine grumbled, caught, then roared to life. As Johnny circled the parking lot on his way out, the beams from his headlights swept across the locker room walls.

“What the hell!” Louisa jumped up. “I thought he was getting cigarettes from the
car
!”

“He’ll be back.”

“He better be,” said Louisa. “We’ll freeze if we have to walk home from here.”

“Trust me. He’ll be back.”

“Hell, we might freeze in here.” She swiveled and sat sideways, bringing her feet up on the bench.

“You want my coat?”

“Aren’t you the gentleman. No, I’ll survive. You can give me another cigarette though.”

I lit her cigarette and noticed her watching me again. This time her look seemed wary.

“Hey Louisa, can I ask you something?” Had I ever addressed her by name before? “What are you doing out here with”—I almost said “me”—“with us?”

She exhaled, and the plume of smoke had the same blue hue as the vapor of her breath. “Simple. I wanted to have a little fun. You know what it’s like being cooped up in that clinic all day? All those tight-assed Norwegians coming in, and obviously they’re sick or why would they be there, and when I ask them how they’re doing, they say, ‘Oh, pretty good,’ because they think there’s no sin worse than complaining. Or else there’s nothing wrong with them and they come in bitching and moaning like they’re dying. Shit, who wouldn’t be ready for a drink after a few days of that?”

“Yeah. I guess.”

“Now I got a question for you. I heard you’ve been trying to protect my reputation. By beating up guys. What put an idea like that in your head?”

So Johnny had told Louisa about Glen Van Dine’s remarks, as well. “That’s not exactly what happened. And it was just one guy.”

“Yeah, well, don’t bother. You won’t salvage my reputation no matter how many arms or heads you bust.”

“Why’s that?” While we were talking, I was trying to think of a way to close the distance between us. Louisa Lindahl had kissed me—twice—and I had to make it happen again. If I sat on the bench facing her, her feet and legs would be between us. But if I sat on the other side, her back would be to me. I decided on the latter course of action.

“Why? You must be kidding. Because Lester and I were shacked up. Because he shot me, so people can’t help but think I must have done something to deserve it. And besides, if the stories about me sound good, people will just keep repeating them. It won’t matter if they’re true.”

Louisa’s theory of how and why gossip spread struck me as closer to reality than Dr. Dunbar’s.

“Are they true?” I couldn’t have asked that if I’d been facing her.

“I can’t answer that without knowing what people are saying, now can I?”

I swallowed hard. “That you’d do ... anything that Lester Huston asked.”

She laughed. “Well, you know that’s not true. I already told you Lester took a shot at me because I wouldn’t cook a Thanksgiving dinner for him!”

“You know what I mean. Anything ... sexual.”

I was sitting close enough to feel her shrug. “I guess. I can’t think offhand of any outrageous request Lester made. But then he didn’t have much of an imagination. Or much of a sex drive. Most of the time he was too drunk to get it up.” She reached down to the floor, picked up the bottle of wine, and drank. “Is that the kind of information you’re looking for, Matt?”

If I had been more sensitive to the ways people relate to one another, I would have realized how rare Louisa’s candor about such matters was. But I was too intent on what wasn’t happening to notice what was. “Is it true,” I asked, “that you jacked a guy off in a bar because Lester told you to?”

“My, you have heard some tales, haven’t you? You see, that’s exactly what I mean. That story isn’t true, but it really doesn’t matter. It sounds good, so it gets repeated. And then it might as well be true anyway, because everyone believes it. And then of course it fits with what some people want to believe about me. And what really happened isn’t nearly as interesting. Yeah, I grabbed a guy’s cock, but not because Lester asked me to. Not exactly. I did it sort of on a dare. And because I was sick of listening to one more man’s big talk. It was no big deal. Believe me, it was
no big deal.
” Her laughter then was painfully derisive.